


Break

by LuthienKenobi



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Closure, F/M, Molly deserved better, it's not her fault she drew a man with a freak on his back, post "...And the Beast from the Sea" to post-series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 19:09:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11950764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuthienKenobi/pseuds/LuthienKenobi
Summary: Molly Foster Graham didn't hear from her husband again after he visited her in the hospital. Once it was all over, she and Wally moved back into their home and tried to get on with their lives, but moving on is difficult when you don't know whether your husband is dead or alive. Especially when dead means "murdered" and alive means "ran off with a cannibalistic serial killer."





	Break

**Author's Note:**

> Because Will loved Molly too, and she definitely cared about him. None of this was fair to her, and she deserves a little closure in her life.

_“Do you want me to go?”_

_“I’d have the satisfaction that you did the right thing. He kills families.”_

_“If I go, I’ll be different when I get back.”_

_“I won’t.”_

* * *

The doctors said she was lucky. The gunshot wound was superficial, and if she kept to her physical therapy regimen she should suffer no lasting effects. She was healing, but she couldn't help feeling that she had been changed by the attack. That she was full of tiny fissures now, radiating outward from the hole in her shoulder.

The FBI sent a psychiatrist to visit her and Wally in the hospital. She wasn't sure whether it was out of kindness, protocol, or guilt. He was pleasant enough. He understood that she didn't want to talk and didn't press her. She in turn took the pamphlets that he left, along with his card, and promised to call should she or Wally ever decide they needed to talk. He assured her that the FBI would pay for the sessions as long as they were required.

She had no intention of calling him.

She was discharged, and Will wasn't there. She refused a wheelchair and signed all the necessary forms half-standing and half-leaning on the counter at the nurses’ station. The strain sent a twisting throb of pain through her, but she had already had enough pity for a lifetime, so she hid it behind rote answers and tired eyes. As soon as she had a chance, she slipped into a nearby private waiting room, closed the door, and sunk into an uncomfortable chair.

She had expected to cry once she was alone, but she found that nothing came. The aching pressure behind her eyes that she had thought were tears turned out to be an empty hole matching the one in her shoulder. She pulled out her phone.

No calls or messages.

She hesitated to call Will. He had been so upset when he saw her in the hospital, and she’d hate to do anything that would cause him to lose focus. He needed to catch that bastard now, he had to. Otherwise, what was the point of all this?

She called him. He could let it go to voicemail if he couldn't talk.

The phone rang.

“You’ve reached Will Graham. Please leave a message, and I’ll return your call as soon as possible.”

She hadn't expected him to pick up. Something in her chest still dropped when he didn't.

“Hey Will, it’s me. Just thought you should know, I’m being released from the hospital today. The FBI is setting us up somewhere safe until this is all over, but they won’t let me tell you where. Not that there's a whole lot I could tell you, since I don’t know where the hell they’re taking us, either. Wally and I miss you. Rebuilding isn't going to be easy, but you better stay safe so that we get the chance. I know that bastard’s after you, so you stay alive, and you get back to us as soon as you can. Love you.”

She ended the call, and looked up to see an agent at the door, waiting for her.

“You about ready to head out, Mrs. Graham?”

She stood up, and pretended it didn't hurt.

* * *

The FBI set her and Wally up in a motel room not far from the hospital. Two agents were staying in the room next door.

She should try to get some rest, they said. It was inadvisable to leave the motel alone. She was given a number and told to call if she needed anything.

A couple times a day, one of the agents would stop by with food for her and Wally. They were polite and professional, but didn't want to make small talk and left quickly. She was fine with that. It was easier that way.

A couple days later, the agents visited together for the first time. This was because they had news. More accurately, they had officially verified rumors. Something was going to happen soon, and she should know that Will would be in the news. There were going to be assumptions made about him, even accusations, but none of them were going to be true. This was an ongoing operation, so they couldn't tell her anything else, but she shouldn't let anything she saw on the news bother her.

“Is Will safe?”

They looked apologetic. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We don't know any more about the operation than you do. But Jack Crawford and his team are the best. Your husband’s going to be fine, and he’ll contact you as soon as this is all over.”

She nodded and thanked them. They showed themselves out.

That night, she watched the news after Wally went to sleep.

She didn't know what she was looking for, and expected to spend a significant amount of flipping through channels until she found it. It turned out that she needn’t have worried. The relevant headline was practically being screamed from every news program currently on the air.

_NOTORIOUS SERIAL KILLER HANNIBAL LECTER ESCAPED_

Click.

_HANNIBAL THE CANNIBAL LOOSE IN BALTIMORE, MD_

Click.

_CANNIBAL KILLER RUNS OFF WITH PSYCHO PROFILER_

She recognized this program. It was a news talk show that always seemed to revel in the opinionated nature of its stories. The host was engaged in an animated conversation with his guest, a crime reporter of some sort.

She didn't change the channel.

“ _We’ve all heard the official story, but you have contacts inside the FBI, right?”_

_“I mean, I’m not at liberty to name any names, you understand. But yes, I do have a few alternate sources of information.”_

_“So what's really going on? Is Graham just a patsy or is he a co-conspirator?”_

_“Honestly, I get the feeling that nobody really knows what's going on. Everyone’s trying so hard to look like they have a plan, when in reality they’re panicking. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if the only people who know what’s really going on are Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham.”_

_“Your so-called ‘Murder Husbands.’”_

_“They may not be married under the law, and I seriously doubt that anything they do is under the eyes of God, but Lecter and Graham share something that you and I and everyone watching at home couldn't even begin to understand. And honestly I can’t imagine why anyone would even want to.”_

Molly turned off the television.

Later that night she woke up to a phone call. It was Jack Crawford.

Agent Crawford told her that Francis Dolarhyde, the man who had tried to kill her and her son in their home, was dead. It looked like Will was probably involved in his death. There was no trace of either him or Hannibal Lecter, though the current theory was that they had both gone off the cliff, possibly after a struggle.

“Did you find a body?”

“No, not yet. I’ll let you know as soon as we find anything. I’m truly sorry about this, Molly.”

“Can Wally and I go home?”

“Yes, I think you should be fine, at least for now. The direct threat to your life is gone.”

The words had been chosen carefully. “Just the direct threat?”

A sigh. “Molly, I’m going to be completely honest with you. You might be best served by moving sometime in the near future.”

“Because Hannibal Lecter gave our address to the Tooth Fairy.”

“Yes.”

“And you haven't found him, either.”

“No.”

“All right. Thank you, Agent Crawford.”

She ended the call and set the phone down on the nightstand. She picked it up again a couple seconds later, and her finger hovered over a contact that she had managed not to call at least twice a day since her release from the hospital.

After a moment of hesitation, she selected it, and let the call ring though.

The call went to voicemail.

“You were supposed to come home to me, you bastard. We were supposed to work through this, and we were supposed to do it together. And now I don’t know whether you’re dead at the bottom of the ocean or alive and murdering people with Hannibal fucking Lect--”

She jammed the end call button and sunk to the floor, wedged into the corner between her bed and the nightstand, clutching an overly-hard pillow.

It was the first time she had cried since the shooting, and she didn't care if Wally heard her.

* * *

The next day, she learned that the FBI dragged the bay. They didn't find any bodies.

She watched the official press conference on the television while she packed up their few belongings from the motel.

Agent Crawford and a handful of serious faced men and women in suits stood in front of a group of reporters that looked about ready to mob the makeshift stage. Hannibal Lecter’s mugshot flashed on screen, followed by the photo from her husband’s FBI identification badge.

_“Lecter is to be considered armed and extremely dangerous. If you see him, do not confront him. Do not attempt to detain him. Get out of the area and call the police once you are a safe distance away. If he is still in the country, we are confident that we will be able to find him. However, until we do, I would urge everyone to be cautious and to stay calm.”_

_“Special Agent Crawford, what about Graham? You state that you’re looking for him as well--is he being treated as a suspect or a victim?”_

_“Special Investigator Graham was kidnapped in the line of duty during a sting operation. Until I see evidence that Graham was complicit in Dr. Lecter’s crimes, that is how he is going to be treated. He is another victim of Dr. Lecter’s, and we are working tirelessly to reunite him with his family. He has a wife and son waiting for him, and I’m told they miss him very much.”_

In a private conversation with her before the press conference, Jack had instructed her to call him immediately if Will ever tried to make contact. He also warned her against attempting to reach Will. It was too dangerous, he said, to put herself in the spotlight like that.

In nearly the same breath, he asked her if she and Wally could appear at the press conference. She refused.

After he hung up, she wondered if she knew Will well enough to determine whether or not Jack’s last request had been hypocritical.

* * *

She and Wally moved back into their house and tried to restart their lives. They didn’t move, which surprised her as much as anyone. After the death of her first husband, she couldn't get out of Florida fast enough. She took her son and ran to the other end of the coast. She needed to cut ties and start fresh.

But then, with her first husband, everything had been quick and final. A whirlwind romance with a high school sweetheart, followed by ‘I do,’ followed by a baby. Followed by a diagnosis that shocked the doctors, given how young he was. Five months later, it was all over. She let her parents hold her as she cried at the funeral. Then her tears were gone, and she held her six-year-old son by the hand at the graveside service.

She said her goodbyes, a few words whispered under her breath and carried away on the soft breeze. She placed the first handful of dirt on top of the casket herself, and that had been the end of it. The next day, she started packing up their house.

There was nothing final this time around. Wally was healing, and their lives had almost become normal again, but she was living in an extended limbo. She didn't know whether Will was alive or dead. She didn't know whether he hated her or missed her. The house wasn't filled with memories of Will that she needed to escape, but with the possibilities of his presence that held her in place. Every time she turned a corner, she half expected him to be there waiting for her, like nothing had ever happened.

* * *

One night, after having a little more to drink than was strictly advisable, she found her phone in her hand and was selecting the contact before she really knew what she was doing.

It went straight to voicemail without ringing.

“Hey, babe. I miss you, you know? Wally’s in bed, and the dogs are asleep, and the house is just so damn quiet at night. I hope you know I’m not mad at you. I know it probably seemed like I was in my last voicemail, if you even listened to it. But I’m not really. Just scared. I hope you're okay, wherever you are. I hope you’re safe. I love you.”

* * *

After that, calling him became a routine. It went straight to voicemail every time, and she never expected him to pick up or even to hear the messages. In all likelihood his phone was either at the bottom of the ocean or long disposed of by now. Calling was for her alone. A way to relieve the tension and break the silence.

“Wally went back to school for the first time today. You’d be so proud of how well he’s recovered. He seems happy, and he’s talking a lot again. You should hear him chatter about everything and anything. Sometimes about nothing at all. It should be annoying, but I find that I can’t bear to ask him to be quiet. It’s just so nice to know that he’s moving on, that he’s capable of being a normal kid again. God, Will, he’s so strong. And who knows? Maybe I’ll get there eventually, too. Can’t be stuck in the past forever, right?”

* * *

“We added a new member to the pack today. The neighbors have started dropping off strays again. This one’s shy, but so sweet and gentle once you get to know her. Definitely a mutt, but she’s got this gorgeous, sleek red coat, so I think she might be at least part Irish Setter. Wally decided to name her Pepper. He’s quite taken with her.”

* * *

“I watched one of those horrible true-crime exposés about you and that psychopath last night. Don’t ask me why, I was pretty drunk. God, everything that asshole did to you… Did you know that I never looked you up the whole time we lived together? I figured that your past was yours, and you’d tell me when you were good and ready. Or you wouldn’t, and that was fine, too, I didn’t care. The last thing I wanted to do was violate your privacy. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe you were living with all that crap inside your head all the time, and I could have helped. Do you think I could have done any good? Oh, god, I’m sorry, Will. I’m so sorry.”

* * *

“It’s snowing here tonight. The first snow of winter. I wonder what the weather’s like where you are. Is it snowing there, too? Are you further south where it’s still warm? Well, wherever you are, I hope there’s a beach. You’re not the sort of guy who can stay landlocked for long.”

* * *

“Everybody expects me to hate you, you know. I’m the woman whose husband ran off with the world’s most notorious murderer. I should be cursing the day I ever met you, but I’m not. We were good together, and we got to be that for three years. I don’t regret that. But then you just disappeared. Poof. No ‘goodbye,’ no ‘I’m sorry it didn’t work out.’ So I’m stuck here waiting, and I don’t even know what the hell I’m waiting for. I shouldn’t miss you anymore, I know that. But I still do.”

* * *

Life continued in this way for months. Every day she worked, then came home and took care of the house, her son, and the pack. She did everything expected of her, sometimes even with a smile. To anyone on the outside looking in, she was healthy and well-adjusted.

Nights saw her with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and her phone in the other. Sometimes neither got used, and she went to sleep without issue. Other times she woke up the next morning to find the bottle empty and the low battery symbol flashing on her phone.

One morning, she woke earlier than expected, and was not immediately sure why she had done so. It hadn’t been a nightmare—she rarely dreamed and had no memory of one when she awoke. While she often had difficulty falling asleep, once she was asleep she usually slept through the night. Waking up at this hour was just odd enough that she got up rather than immediately rolling over and getting back to sleep.

It was probably nothing. It was probably also wise to check the house before going back to bed.

It was near dawn, but still dark outside. The dogs hadn’t raised the alarm, which was comforting, but she wanted to see for herself that everything was fine.

She checked Wally’s room first. He was fast asleep, entirely buried under the covers, which were rising and falling softly with each breath. She closed the door, and moved on to the next room.

After checking each room on the second floor, she went downstairs, stepping carefully so the creaking wouldn’t wake Wally.

All of the dog beds were empty. They hadn’t barked, but she could hear them now, nails against the hardwood of the kitchen floor. The excited tapping increased, and she heard one of the larger dogs jump.

Someone in her kitchen hissed sharply, and the movement stilled. It was replaced by a man’s voice whispering softly. She couldn’t make out the words, but she could hear the praise and tenderness in them.

She should go back upstairs and get her phone. She should call 911. She should get Wally and get out, just like last time.

She continued walking to the kitchen, each foot carefully placed one in front of the other so as not to make a sound. She stopped just before she crossed the threshold and watched.

He was crouched on the ground by the door, backlit by the porch light. She could see his outline clearly, but not his face. He was surrounded by the pack, and most of them greeted him like an old friend, crowding forward and pressing their heads into his hands and against his legs.

He greeted them all, but paid special attention to the two newest members of the pack. He reached out a hand to them, murmuring encouraging words under his breath until they, emboldened by their fellows, came to him freely.

He ran his hands through the newest mutt’s soft, ruddy coat. His whispers were a little louder this time, and she could hear them clearly.

“And you must be Pepper. I’ve heard a lot about you. She’s right, you really are a sweetheart, aren’t you?”

She stepped into the kitchen and flicked on the light.

Will stood up quickly, facing her.

“Hello, Molly.”

He was both her husband and a man she had never met. His stance was powerful, but not threatening. He looked more sure of himself than he ever had when she had known him. His hands were empty, and at least as far she she could see he had no weapons on him. He wasn’t here to hurt her.

His hair was less unruly than it had been when she had known him, and he was clean shaven. A rough, white scar spider-webbed across his cheek. It joined the cleaner, even scars across his forehead and lining the edge of his jaw, and it gave his face a decidedly uneven look.

He knew Pepper’s name.

She took a step closer to him. Her voice only caught once. “You got my messages?”

He nodded and huffed out a breath. A wry smile twisted on his face. “To be honest, I don’t know why I even kept the phone.”

“I didn’t expect you to. Thought it might be a liability.”

“It was.” He paused. “But to answer your question, yes. I heard every one.”

She nodded. Took a deep breath. She had walked closer and was within arm’s length of him now. “What happened to your face?” Acting on instinct, she reached out to touch the scar.

He shied back towards the door. She didn’t follow. “I got stabbed.” He didn’t offer any further explanation.

“Looks like it hurt.”

Something she couldn’t decipher moved behind his eyes. He changed the subject. “You should move.”

“Yeah, Agent Crawford said as much when we first moved back here.”

“Jack’s a smart man. You should listen to him.”

“He also told me to call him immediately if you ever tried to make contact.”

He nodded, conceding the point. “Are you going to?”

“I haven’t decided yet. Why are you here, Will?”

He looked down and his brow furrowed. “I don’t want you to wait for me, Molly. You deserve better than to be shackled to the memory of a man who doesn’t exist anymore.”

“Doesn’t he? The dogs sure seem to think you’re the same person.”

He shook his head. “I told you I’d be different.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t keep up my end of the bargain.”

Grief lined his face, and she wondered if it was his or if he was just mirroring her own. “I’m sorry, too, Molly. About a lot of things. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. That I won’t be able to be there for Wally as he grows up. I’m sorry that it didn’t work out between us.” He echoed her words from the message.

She was suddenly angry. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that to me unless you mean it.”

“I do mean it. You were right, we were good together. I wanted to build a life with you.”

“And now?”

“Now I want something else.”

She saw the truth of it in his eyes and nodded. Accepted it. “I loved you.”

He smiled, half fond and half sad. “I loved you, too.”

They held each other’s gaze for a few seconds. Will was the first to break the connection. He looked down, and was suddenly all business again. “If you do decide to call Jack, I’d appreciate it if you waited a couple of hours. Gave me a bit of a head start.”

“And if I refuse?”

He considered the question, glancing around the room. “I could tie you up here. The dogs’ leashes are sturdy enough to hold you for at least a little while. Gag you with a dishtowel. Wally would get up late without you to wake him up, but he’d find you eventually. You’d miss a little work, but you’d be fine.” He looked back at her, apologetic. “I’d really rather not have to. But I could.”

She should be scared, but she realized she wasn’t. It was less of a threat than it was a simple statement of fact. She nodded again, agreeing. “I’ll wait to call Agent Crawford. If I decide to call him.”

“Thank you.” The relief on his face was clear. He moved to open the door, then thought better of it and paused. He pulled something out of his pocket and laid it on the counter.

It was his cellphone.

He turned to leave.

“Will, wait.”

He paused and turned his head to look at her.

“Are you happy?” She hadn’t meant to ask him that. But in all likelihood she was never going to see him again, and since she still cared about him, she had to know.

Will smiled. It was a look she hadn’t seen on him since Agent Crawford showed up at their cabin with pictures and a request. “Yeah. Yeah, I believe I actually am.”

She took a breath. “Okay.”

Will pulled his coat tighter around him and this time opened the door without interruption. “Goodbye, Molly.”

“Goodbye.”

When he was gone, she picked up the phone from where he had laid it on the counter. After a moment’s consideration, she checked that it was turned off, then dropped it in the trash can. She covered it over with paper towels so Wally wouldn’t see it and ask questions. Once that was done, she sat down heavily at the kitchen table. The gunshot wound in her shoulder ached.

She felt like all the bits of her that had been fractured and chipped away over the past months had been broken all at once. It hurt, but the injury was quick and almost merciful. A clean break that would heal properly once set.

She wasn’t going to call Agent Crawford. But in a little while, she would go upstairs and delete Will’s contact from her phone. She would see about making the necessary arrangements to move back to Oregon.

But that was for later. For now, she was just going to sit here and watch the sunrise.

**Author's Note:**

> I was rewatching the second half of S3 so that I could get more in Will's mindset for Wazwan (my probably way too ambitious multi-chapter fic), when I was struck by how much none of this was fair to Molly. She kind of just disappears after the hospital scene--which is fine because S3 is packed really full as it is, and it focuses on Will's story anyways--but I realized that I really wanted to revisit her and see her dealing with the aftermath of all this.
> 
> This was supposed to be short, just 1K or so, and I originally only had the scene at the end where Will comes to say goodbye. But then I started writing from the beginning, and it grew to nearly four times that. Oh well.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
